Mordrig could only stare. Nowhere in his files had he read about humans being able to transform like this. True, she had a Saiyan soul, but this was no Saiyan form, either. Her face bore the look of desperate fury she'd had when he'd bathed her in her son's blood. All she'd managed to do then was scar Mordrig's face. Now--

In the blink of an eye she was gone. Bewildered, Mordrig looked around him, finding no sign of the apparition. He began to wonder if he'd really seen her the first time.

"Yes, you did," came the voice behind him. The next thing he knew his body was sailing upwards, pain shooting through him. She appeared in the air above him, fist raised. He saw an opportunity, lunging forward, jaws gaping. If he could just get a hold of her--he expected her to redirect her punch so he could grab her arm. Instead, she rammed her fist full-force into his mouth and down his throat. He choked and gagged, squirming. She stared into his hateful eyes and grinned. All the energy in her body focused, traveling down her arm, building in her fist, still lodged in his throat. He tried to scream. In her own voice, Takira whispered:

"Now die."

The ki exploded inside him and he shattered in a cloud of charred flesh and bone. Still glowing, Takira flew to where Trunks lay, Gohan(recently awake and still dripping a little blood)kneeling next to him, fighting back tears at the muted sounds of agony coming from Trunks. He looked up at Takira, startled.

"What in the--"

"Stand back from him," she ordered. Gohan cautiously drew back, watching with a wary eye as Takira knelt over Trunks, nearly sitting on the gaping wound, leaning close to his face.

"Wake up," she said. Trunks moaned, eyes still squeezed shut. Drawing back her hand, Takira slapped him hard across the face. "Wake up!"

"Takira!" Gohan shouted angrily, "For the love of kami, can't you see he's--"

"--dying," she interrupted. "I know; and that's why he must wake up." She turned back to Trunks, who now squinted up at her uncertainly.

"Ta--Takira?" he choked, blood trickling from his mouth. She nodded, removing Bulma's necklace and placing it around Trunks' neck.

"If you dare fall asleep, I'll strangle you with it. Close your eyes, but don't let the darkness take you. Keep your eyes closed until I tell you." She smiled. "Trust me, you don't want to see this coming." Grinding his teeth in pain, Trunks did as he was told. Takira stood, raising her arms above her head. Her aura expanded, energy focusing on her outstretched hands. She brought them together above her, and then with a wordless cry, threw the energy ball down into Trunks.

"No!" screamed Gohan as it burst in a flash of light. Momentarily blinded, he rubbed his eyes, struggling to see. What had she done? Was this some kind of Saiyan mercy-killing ritual? At last he managed to focus. Takira knelt again and held Trunks' face in her hands. Her hair and eyes were black again, as they'd been before. She was no longer god or demon; only a human, badly burnt, bleeding from a dozen places, yet smiling at the same time. She kissed Trunks lightly on the lips.

"Wake up," she whispered again, this time rising to her feet and stepping back.

For a long moment there was no response from the still figure on the ground. Then Trunks drew a breath and said faintly:

"You didn't say I could open my eyes." Takira laughed out loud.

"Well open them, fool. Get up!"

Trunks blinked a few times, then with a heartfelt groan, pulled himself to his feet. He reeled, staggering, and Takira stepped forward, placing a burnt arm across his shoulders. His shirt was still torn and his clothing soaked in blood, but body intact. He gave Takira a wondering look.

"Trunks!" shouted Goten, having pulled himself to the edge of the crater. "You're okay! What happened?"

"Tell us, Takira," Gohan urged. Takira shrugged.

"He pissed me off, I killed him. End of story."

"What about me?" asked Trunks. She smiled.

"Now you know why dragontears are so rare and valuable."

"They can heal?"

"Within limits. They're generally held as a last resort to revive the dying. It's not something you use on anyone with a chance of natural recovery. It can destroy life as well as saving it. Even among strong races, there's about a one-in-five chance that both involved parties would be killed. Fortunately, I was feeling lucky."

"So we can't use it to patch up Goten?" asked Gohan.

"I'm afraid not. The best we can do is get him--and you, Gohan, you look like hell--to a hospital and try to get some more of those Senzu seeds." She turned to Trunks. "How are you feeling?"

"A little sore, but otherwise okay." She let go of him and he stood firmly, no longer staggering.

"Think you can carry Gohan?"

"He won't have to carry me," Gohan interjected. "Just fly alongside and I'll be fine. I really don't think I'm in that bad shape."

"Bullshit," she said, lifting Goten carefully. "Let's go. If nothing else, Yamcha and Pan will more than likely be there, and will want to know how it turned out."

It was early enough in the morning that the streets were more or less deserted, so at Takira's request they flew, landing outside the hospital. They found Pan in the waiting room, arguing with one of the nurses. With one last disgusted look at the woman, Pan rushed over to them.

"What happened, guys? Is he gone?" They all knew who she meant. Trunks nodded wearily. Takira shifted her grip on Goten and looked at the nurse Pan had been yelling at.

"Is she in charge of Yamcha?"

"Yeah. She wants to know what caused the wound."

"Tell her it's none of her damn business, and to make room in his ward for two more." Pan gave the group a silent appraisal.

"Which two?"

"Gohan and Goten, of course," said Trunks.

"Of course," she said mockingly, "just because you're soaked in blood and she looks like she got into a fight with a flame-thrower--"

"Well, I'm fine," Trunks protested, "As to Takira--"

"It's not as bad as it looks," she muttered. "Which room is Yamcha in?"

"132B, down the hall and on the right," Pan directed, pointing. "Let's get these two cleaned up." They headed down the hall with a blustering nurse trailing behind.

When they entered the room, Yamcha was sitting up in bed, propped with pillows, a little pale but apparently well in most other respects. A wide swath of gauze covered his shoulder and chest.

"I thought you guys would be along to visit. Man, what happened back there?" he asked, looking with concern at the battered warriors.

"Well, Mordrig's dead and we're alive," Takira said as she laid Goten on an empty bed. He sighed as he relaxed, head sinking into the pillow.

"I guessed as much," Yamcha said dryly, "though it looks like it was pretty close." Gohan sank wearily onto another bed, wincing a he put a hand to his head.

"Well, it was, surprisingly enough. For a while there I was sure we were going to lose Trunks."

"Yet he's still standing. How do you explain that?"

"Well," Trunks cut in, "It seems that Takira has a few abilities we didn't know about, and that this necklace is more than just a pretty stone."

"Okay--care to explain?"

Trunks was about to answer when the pushy nurse burst into the room with one of the resident doctors. If he was taken aback by the number and condition of patients in the room, he didn't show it. Quietly, he dismissed the nurse and shut the door behind him.

"In all honesty, I don't think I want to know," he began, "so you don't have to tell me. I'll see what I can do for you all, and let you go on your way. Who's first?"

It was decided that Gohan's head should be bandaged first, then a thorough inspection was made of Goten. Nothing seemed to be out of place, so the doctor simply advised a long period of rest. Takira's sweatshirt bandage was peeled from her arm, the wound cleaned, and a fresh gauze bandage applied, all while the doctor muttered about never having seen such a broad spectrum of injuries in one group.

"Well, it certainly keeps my job interesting," he said cheerfully, turning to Trunks and noticing for the first time the blood soaking his black shirt and pants.

"Sweet mother of--for goodness' sake, boy, sit down before you pass out from shock!" He shoved Trunks down onto a bed, pulling up his shirt to find the wound. Takira snickered.

"What's this? You're soaked to the skin, have a hole in your shirt the size of a softball, and no break in the skin? What on earth--no, no, I won't ask, I don't want to know." He pulled back and sighed. "I take it nothing's wrong with you but the state of your clothes?"

"More or less," Trunks shrugged. "Sorry."

"Don't be. When a patient comes in looking like that, I really prefer as little as possible to be wrong with them." He paused, looking around the room. "Anyone else?" Getting no answer, he announced he would be in to check on them later, and took his leave.

"Pan, could you call home and tell Chichi and Videl not to worry?" Gohan asked.

"I already did. They said they were on their way, so you'd better be ready to explain." She turned to Trunks. "I also called Bulma. You may want to, uh, wring out your shirt before she sees it and freaks. Just rinse it in the sink or something." As me moved to comply, removing jacket and scabbard, he noticed his missing sword.

"Ah, shit, I must've dropped it."

"You had other things on your mind at the time," Takira pointed out. "I'll go get it; I have to pick up my wakazishi anyhow."

"Come on, I'm the healthy one; let me go."

"Really, Trunks, I'd prefer to." She paused. "Koretz is still there, and, well, I thought I ought to pay my respects."

"I'll go with you then."

"Anything to avoid facing the wrath of Bulma, hmm?" Trunks smiled.

"Something like that. Let's go." They left through the window, shooting out into the sunlight. Pan watched them go, then turned to the rest.

"Okay, guys. Who is she?"